Leaving me
by Unintentional Hush
Summary: Just a quick one-shot from Dean's point of view on the night when Sam left for Stanford. Angst like whoa.


Dean waited, sitting on his bed, fists trying desperately to block his ears, stop the sound of enraged yelling and a lamp shattering. He had tried frantically to calm both his father and brother, but he had been impatiently pushed away and ordered to stay out of it by both parties.

Dean groaned as the voices escalated. They had been going on like this for two hours now, and just when it seemed that either voice couldn't get louder, or that they couldn't get angrier, they did. It tore into Dean to hear his family so upset, and all he wanted to do was make it better. Fix his family, magic away all the pain and resentment and pride that kept John and Sam going at each other night and day.

Finally he had had enough. He pushed himself up from the bed and stormed downstairs. Wasting no time, he pushed himself in between John and Sam, thrusting his palms outward at each of them to gently shove them a little farther away. The crescendo of voices stopped for a moment, both parties struggling to find a way around this newest obstacle.

"Just stop it!" Dean said quietly. He wanted to yell, to make his presence known and force them to shut up, but he was sick and tired of hearing loud voices, even if they were his own. John glared at both his sons, and Dean inwardly cringed, remembering the sharp pain of his Dad's fist against his skin, the pain of a well-placed kick from an angry John. The sick terror that John would turn on Sam after he was done with Dean. But Dean didn't budge, coolly returning John's gaze.

"Stop it. Both of you." Dean added, swinging his head around to fix Sam with a look too. Sam opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, his face flushed and red from anger, but then the youngest Winchester let out an angry huff and spun on his heel, stalking towards the door. Dean cocked his head, confused, and took a step after his younger brother.

"Sam? Where are you going? It's the middle of the night!" Dean called. Sam didn't stop as he replied, his voice husky from yelling, "I'm leaving! Stanford accepted me, and it is sure as hell better than here." Dean barely had time to register the horror that flooded and froze his bones before John replied with, "If you walk out that door, son, don't you _ever _come back!" Sam's response was to slam the door behind him. John seemed to almost relax when Sam left, but Dean was already running, leaving the door wide open in his haste as he scrambled outside and into the rain.

Sam's tall figure was striding towards the truck that John always kept alongside the Impala. The perfect getaway car.

"Sam! Sammy, wait!" Dean cried, chasing after his brother. Sam paused, and turned around to face his older brother, his eyes softening slightly.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but I'm going. College is…well, it's pretty important." Sam smiled, and in it Dean could see the anger slipping away to form excitement, ecstasy that Sam was finally going. But all Dean felt was an icy cold terror that he would finally lose the one thing he cared about most in the world, cared about far more than he cared about himself, or even John. Dean stopped his undignified stumble a metre away from Sam and spread his arms helplessly.

"Sam, man, please don't leave. Dad, he'll – He'll come around, and you guys will make up. It's just a stupid argument, right? Don't you think this is a little drastic?" Dean struggled to keep his composure, make it sound like he was just making an offhanded suggestion, not an open hearted plea. Sam shook his head, his wet, shaggy hair whipping around with him.

"I gotta go, Dean. This life isn't for me! I don't _want _to make up with Dad! That bastard had it coming!" Sam ignored the disapproving look that Dean shot him and continued on with his little speech, "Besides, I got into _Stanford, _Dean! That's pretty much the highest level education I can get! I want this!" Sam's voice was filled with an almost childlike wonder, and excitement was shining in his eyes. Dean felt like his heart was rending in half, but he couldn't force his brother to stay. Couldn't even ask. Because who was he to wrench away his brother's happiness just because Dean himself would die without Sam? Sam deserved to follow his dreams.

So Dean gave a stiff nod.

"Okay. Go." He wanted to say more, wanted to say that he loved Sammy, and that he needed him, and that he hoped Sam would be happy, but he was afraid that if he spoke, the tears he was holding back would spill forth. Sam looked surprised, and then a grin stole over his face.

"Really? Wow! Thanks, Dean!" Sam strode forward and hugged Dean tightly, but Dean didn't return the gesture. He wanted to, oh he wanted to.He knew that this would most likely be the last time he had any contact with his brother, with his best friend, but he couldn't force his arms to move. They just hung there. Limp.

Sam pulled back, and his ecstasy faltered for a moment, "Hey, man, you okay?" He asked worriedly. _No, _Dean wanted to scream, _No, I'm not okay! I'm hurting, and I need you, and I can't go on without you. Sammy, I think there's something wrong with my heart, because it's hurting, and it's hurting so bad._

But Dean didn't say any of that.

Instead, he forced a smile for his brother's sake, and pushed his freezing, stiff hand to clap Sam's shoulder, wondering if the smile looked at fake as if felt. Wondering if it looked like it was splintering, breaking apart to reveal the heartbreak within.

"I'm great, Sammy. I'm real proud of you."

Sam seemed pacified, and he grinned back, making Dean wonder if he was just that good, or if Sam was just too excited to care.

"See you later then! Right, Dean?" Dean nodded stiffly. His smile was slipping. Sam nodded, flashed Dean one more grin and turned his back, resuming his walk to John's truck, the keys he'd likely stolen from their father clutched in his hand. Dean suddenly knew that his legs wouldn't hold him anymore, and he slipped slowly to the ground, his knees landing with a soft thud in the muddy ground. Rain was falling all around him, pounding down harder and harder, soaking him to the bone.

He didn't care.

Despite himself, Dean wished desperately that Sam would hear his brother fall and turn around, come running back to pick Dean up and dust him off, and promise him that he wouldn't ever leave, _ever_.

But Sam didn't hear.

And Sam didn't turn around.

Dean felt tears overflowing, spilling down his face as he began to shake uncontrollably. And there, on his knees, looking helplessly after the retreating back of his baby brother, Dean cried.

More tears fell down his face and, as Sam got into the cab of the truck and drove away, never seeing his fallen brother, Dean realized his broken, splintered smile was still in place. His mouth was still curved upwards in an almost painful grimace as tears mixed with the rainwater and sobs built in his chest.

And it was at that moment, smiling his little broken smile and crying bitter, heartbroken tears in the rain, that Dean realized that he was well and truly broken.


End file.
